SCHLICHTER'S KIDS THE SADDEST VICTIMS OF HIS ADDICTION

Rick MorrisseyCHICAGO TRIBUNE

The first thing she told him was that he would have to be the one to tell the children.

He would have to explain to their two girls why their father was going back to prison and how a gambling addiction has a vengeance that seems to need innocent bystanders for sustenance. He would have to explain why, for the life of him, he gave them up for another stinking bet.

So that is what Art Schlichter did a few weeks ago, before he ran, before federal authorities began hunting him down. He took his two girls out of school and told them that he was in trouble again, for reasons that were beyond the understanding of a 6-year-old, if not a 10-year-old. But it was better than the last time he was arrested, when they had to hear about it on the radio.

The family meeting was "a horrible scene," Mitzi Schlichter said, recalling her ex-husband sobbing and telling them that, as much he wanted to stop gambling, something deep inside made him punch the gas pedal when he meant to hit the brakes. The girls cried, too, not at the sad sight of a former football star recycling his garbage in front of them, but at the sound of promises broken and the thought of losing their father to another extended stay in prison.

"My oldest one had some pretty pointed questions," Mitzi Schlichter said. "She was really, really hard on him. She said, `How could you? Did you think about us? Do you love me?' It's so hard for kids. Her thought was, `If you love me, why would you do that? You lied to me. You said you'd never gamble again.' To try to explain it to children is difficult because it's hard for adults to understand."

The latest installment in America's longest-running addiction story landed on doorsteps recently when news broke that U.S. marshals were looking for Schlichter, 40, the former Ohio State and Baltimore-Indianapolis Colts quarterback. This time he faced money-laundering charges stemming from a scheme that included making unauthorized charges on his father's credit cards.

He spent several days eluding authorities before they arrested him at a restaurant in Ravenna, Ohio. He told a judge that he was indigent, and no one raised an eyebrow, given his record of losing money.

It was a long way from where he used to be, a schoolboy star in Ohio. He was the national high school player of the year in 1978, a Rose Bowl quarterback at Ohio State and, eventually, a first-round NFL draft pick. But his gambling addiction began to surface in 1983 when the league suspended him after bookies threatened him while trying to collect more than $150,000 in debts.

Since then he has popped up regularly in the news, a punch toy with a weight on the bottom and betting slips in his hands. Experts for years have told the family that Schlichter needs to hit rock bottom before he can get better, but they didn't count on him carrying a drill.

He left prison in Indiana in September after serving about two years of a four-year sentence for theft, forgery and fraud. He earned that stay by allegedly stealing $800,000 to support his gambling addiction.

For a while after his release, there was hope. He looked good, healthy. He was going through treatment for his addiction. This time would be different. It always is.

He faces up to 20 years in prison if convicted on the federal charges.

"He's an interesting person because he commits crimes that hurt people financially, but he adores his kids," said Mitzi Schlichter, who works at a gambling addiction center in Indiana and travels the country giving speeches. "He did everything he could to be involved in their lives. I could never, never doubt how much Art loved the kids. But that wasn't enough to stop him from repeating this same pattern."

What's the lesson in this? Don't gamble? Don't start gambling? Improve treatment for addicts in prison? I don't know. Maybe it's this: We watch this kind of story long enough, it becomes unreal, another part of our regularly scheduled programming. But off-screen, there's a real family in real pain.

The girls have learned to hold their arms out for the metal detector when visiting their father in prison.

"We've been through so many hopeful times that everyone thought there could be a happy ending to this," Mitzi Schlichter said. "And there still could be. I hope for everyone's sake that there is.